


The Devil You Know

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Bullying, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: Harry never really fit into Hogwarts School for Boys. He was a scholarship student, his aunt and uncle were middle class, his long-dead parents had left him with his mother’s eyes and his father’s brown skin and unruly hair, but nothing more. He didn’t have a trust fund or family in politics or big banks. So, when he saw his name next to that of the richest boy in school, his heart sunk.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 33
Kudos: 352





	The Devil You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Based in part on the film Handsome Devil (2016). Characters technically belong to JK Rowling, but since they deserve better... let's make it gay.

Harry scanned the room assignments, his duffel bag at his feet. “Potter, Potter, Potter,” he mumbled under his breath as he went down the list. Then his mouth dropped.

There he was: Potter, Harry. Right next to Malfoy, Draco.

This year was going to be hell.

-

Harry knew he would never fit in at Hogwarts School for Boys. He was a scholarship student, his aunt and uncle were middle class, his long-dead parents had left him with his mother’s eyes and his father’s brown skin and unruly hair, but nothing more. He didn’t have a trust fund or family in politics or big banks. He had an out-of-date phone, a laptop that screamed when it turned on, and his duffel bag still said D. Dursley in permanent marker. Despite all this, however, he had made it to his last year. He had a few close friends. He was the star football player for their school team. He did well enough in class not to have his scholarship revoked. Sure, he still stuck out like a sore thumb, but at least he wasn’t getting shoved into trash bins anymore.

So, when he saw his name next to that of the richest boy in school, his heart sunk.

Malfoy was his number one rival. Since day one, they had been at each other’s throats. It hadn’t exactly been a moment of great significance – Malfoy had offered to show Harry around the school, but he had declined, and apparently that was a great enough offence for Malfoy to target Harry for the next several years. He was eleven, and didn’t know who he had just snubbed, but Malfoy never let him live it down. Of course, Malfoy found other things to bully him about. His glasses, his second-hand clothes, the scar on his forehead from the car crash that had killed his parents…. Harry was just glad Malfoy hadn’t found out his biggest secret. But now, even that was at risk. You couldn’t share a room with someone and not find out they were gay. Or, in Harry’s case, bisexual.

-

Malfoy was already in the room when Harry arrived. He was standing looking out the window over the grounds and hadn’t heard Harry come in. Harry sized him up – Malfoy was taller than him, thin and lean, all angles, grey eyes and white blonde hair. His clothes fit him well and his shoes were always polished. He was the picture of pristine posh. Harry bit the inside of his cheek. In another universe, he would be attracted to the bastard. He would never admit that, though, not to himself and definitely not to Malfoy. He tossed his duffel bag on the bed that hadn’t been claimed by Malfoy’s leather-bound luggage. Malfoy turned to look over his shoulder at Harry.

“So, it is you,” Malfoy drawled. “I was hoping it was a prank.”

Harry scowled at him. “Same here,” he said in a monotone. He squinted at Malfoy’s face, backlit by the window, trying to make out the other boy’s expression. Malfoy remained inscrutable. Harry looked away with a sigh and ran his hand through his wild black curls as he took in the rest of the room. It was the standard room they had been living in since the first year – two single beds, two closets, two pine wood desks and desk chairs, two bookcases, two nightstands. The only luxury was the ensuite toilet, something only students in their last year were given.

“We’re going to have to do something about this,” Harry said as the silence stretched on between them. “You think the Headmaster would let us switch?”

“I would not be surprised if it was the Headmaster who assigned us together,” Malfoy said with a sneer. “He is all about resolving conflicts with love and peace, is he not?”

Harry’s lip curled. Malfoy did have a point, though. Headmaster Dumbledore was the kind of head teacher that led meditation classes during detentions. Trying to get him to switch the room assignments would probably just result in an impromptu therapy session, which Harry was not about to have, not with Malfoy at least. Harry looked back at Malfoy, who was giving him an odd look, and raised his eyebrows.

“Something on your mind, Malfoy?” Harry asked coolly. Malfoy blinked and shook his head. He turned towards Harry properly but didn’t look him in the eye again as he made to walk past him towards the hall.

“I will have a chat with the Headmaster. Cannot hurt to try,” Malfoy mumbled as he passed. Harry, who had never been this close to Malfoy without the other boy hitting him, tensed. Malfoy was already gone, though, and he had to force himself to relax. The smell of peppermint lingered for several minutes after Malfoy left the room.

When Malfoy returned, Harry was nowhere to be found, and a wall made up of their desks and bookshelves divided the room into two. There was a paper sign taped to the end of the makeshift wall. He stepped closer to read the scrawled handwriting, and chuckled.

MY SIDE, PRAT’S SIDE

-

The first week or so passed without incident. Harry was surprised at how civil the other boy was being but refused to let his guard down. He watched Malfoy like a hawk, all while pretending to ignore him, until he had his roommate’s routine memorized. They were both early risers, Harry for football practice and Malfoy for whatever nefarious reason. He would usually be drinking a cup of coffee from the Nespresso machine he had installed on his desk by the time Harry left for practice. As far as Harry could tell, Malfoy’s diet was eighty per cent black coffee and twenty per cent salad. Not that Harry watched what Malfoy ate at the dining hall. Since they were taking different A levels, Harry only shared one class with Malfoy: English. Their teacher, Professor Lupin, was new to the school but had apparently gotten the memo about the two of them. He had pulled the two aside after the first class and asked if their rivalry was going to disrupt the rest of the class. To Harry’s continued surprise, Malfoy had shaken his head.

That evening, Harry broke their silent truce.

“Were you telling the truth, earlier? With Lupin?” he asked from his side of the wall.

“You will have to be more specific, Potter,” he heard from the other side. Harry rolled his eyes and got out of bed where he had been reading to poke his head above his desk and look at Malfoy. Malfoy glanced up from his homework with a small frown.

“Earlier,” said Harry. “When you said we weren’t going to cause trouble in his class.”

“Oh. That.” Malfoy turned his attention back to his textbook – a thick biology textbook with type so small and dense Harry was surprised Malfoy didn’t go blind trying to read it. “Of course. Contrary to what you may think, I have more going on in my life than just being your archnemesis, Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth, thought better of it, closed it again. After a moment, he managed a, “Right, well. Good to know,” before retreating back to his bed. He hadn’t been able to read much more that night.

-

Practice had run late into the night that Saturday. Harry, exhausted from training, was looking forward to taking a shower in the ensuite before collapsing into bed. As he reached the door to his and Malfoy’s room, however, he froze. From the sound of posh accents and clipped laughter, Malfoy had friends over. Friends like him, rich snobs who would trip Harry as he passed them in the halls and shout insults at him in the dining hall. Harry pressed himself up against the wall in the hallway, listening intently.

“Come on, Draco, be serious! What’s it really like, rooming with Potter?”

That must be Crabbe. His father was a prominent MP and had gotten Crabbe a Bugatti last Christmas.

“I told you. It is not a total disaster. We get on just fine,” he heard Malfoy reply. It sounded like he was holding back a laugh, but not the kind that Harry was used to hearing from him. He sounded earnest. “I barely see him, really. He’s always out practicing or with Weasely.”

“He hasn’t accosted you, has he?”

That would be Parkinson. His voice sounded like a needle slowly being pulled out of a balloon.

“How do you mean?”

“Ooooh, you haven’t heard?” Parkinson squealed. Harry’s palms began to sweat as his heart jumped into his throat. No, how could he know, how could Parkinson of all people have found out…

“No, Piers. What is this new gossip?” Malfoy was saying with exaggerated glee.

“Well, I heard a rumour, from one of the boys at Durmstrang – they played against us last year, remember? Well, one of them, Krum – his father’s a good friend of the family, as you know, they got us VIP tickets to the World Cup – well, he said, he caught Potter looking at him, after the game, if you know what I mean.”

Harry swore silently. He had checked Krum out at the match – he hadn’t watched him shower like a creep or anything, nothing like what Parkinson was implying. Krum must have seen him, though. Damn it, he thought he was safe, Durmstrang was miles away – but of course, all the rich kids knew each other.

An expectant silence fell in the room. Harry waited for the shoe to drop, for Malfoy to say something, anything. Then,

“And? Get to the point, Piers.”

“That’s it.”

“So what? Potter looked at a bloke?”

“That’s just it! He practically ogled Krum!”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s a pouf, Draco! Come on! Are you being dense on purpose?”

“So what if he’s a pouf?” Malfoy asked, and Harry was surprised to hear that he was being sincere. He heard a couple of loud groans from the other boys.

“Come on, Draco! You know his type! They can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“You’re one to talk, Gregory. Didn’t my father help you get those charges dropped from the Greengrass girl? You know,” Malfoy’s dropped to an ice-cold whisper that Harry had to strain to hear, “the girl you roofied?”

Silence fell again, but this time, Harry could practically feel the arctic chill that had descended inside. Then, one of the other boys said,

“I just wish he would go back to where he came from.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Like he hadn’t heard that before.

There was another pause. Then,

“You mean Surrey?” Malfoy asked.

Harry couldn’t stifle his snort in time. Not wanting to stick around to see if he was found out, he booked it down the hall and down the stairs. Only then did he let himself laugh. Wait until he told Ron…

Later that night, he snuck back into the room. The lights were off, and from what he could tell, Malfoy was fast asleep. Harry took off his shoes by the door and began to strip as he made his way to his side of the wall, tossing his clothes in the direction of his closet. He was just stepping out of his trousers when he heard a soft voice say,

“I am sorry about my friends.”

Harry stumbled. He cursed, and half-considered pulling his trousers back on. From what he could see, however, Malfoy’s back was turned. He let out a sigh and tossed the trousers towards the closet with the rest. Just in his boxers, he made his way to his bed, not trying to be as quiet as before.

“It’s fine, really. Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. He heard the rustle of bedsheets and looked up in time to meet Malfoy’s gaze over the wall as the other boy sat up in bed.

“Is it true?” Malfoy asked, so quietly Harry could have imagined it. Then he added, “Are you? Gay?”

Harry was glad it was dark so Malfoy couldn’t see how much he was blushing. He rubbed his sweating palms on his boxers before crawling under his own bed sheets.

“Good night, Malfoy.”

“Because it’s okay, if you are.”

Harry, who had been setting his glasses on the bedside table, froze. Malfoy’s words hung in the air, waiting for a response. He took a deep breath, then another.

“Yeah, I know,” he said finally. “Go to sleep.”

It was a little while, however, before he heard the squeak of bedsprings and the rustle of bedsheets. Harry stared at the wall as he laid on his side, trying to get his racing heart to settle down. Never let it be said that Malfoy wasn’t full of surprises.

The wall came down the next day.

-

The end of term was always a hectic time. Harry spent more time than ever out of their room. Between training and studying, he almost never saw Malfoy. So it was a surprise to both of them that, one Sunday, Harry came back to the room after breakfast and found Malfoy pacing back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly when he saw Harry, but otherwise continued to pace. When Harry caught his eye again, Harry gestured and mouthed, ‘What’s going on?’

Malfoy shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line, and waved Harry away. Harry frowned. He knew better, however, than to try and bother him any further. Something about Malfoy’s furrowed brow kept him in the room, though, instead of going to find Ron or spending his one day off in weeks somewhere else. He grabbed a book from his shelves and flopped onto his bed to read. But with Malfoy pacing in the corner of his eye, he couldn’t get past the first few sentences.

“Yes, Father,” Malfoy was saying into the phone, his voice unusually subdued and contrite. “I understand, Father. Of course, Father. Best behaviour. Of course.” He let out a long breath he had been holding, and Harry saw his shoulders drop a little – not that he was slouching, Malfoy’s posture was always perfect. When Malfoy spoke next, Harry forgot his book entirely.

“Bonjour, Maman.”

Malfoy spoke French?

Harry stared at the words on the page as he listened to the flurry of French coming out of Malfoy’s mouth. He tried to hold onto the few phrases he recognised, but quickly found himself lost. He set his book on his bedside table and sat up, shifting his legs off the bed, to watch Malfoy. The other boy continued to pace, but he was now gesturing wildly, and every so often his stream of words would stop to listen to the other person. More than once he let out a sharp exhale of air, a little ‘poof’, puffing out his cheeks comically as he did so.

Harry was fascinated.

Malfoy seemed to know he was being watched but continued to ignore Harry. Something about the tone in his voice let Harry know that the conversation was winding down. Malfoy ran his free hand through his fine hair, mussing up his perfect coif, as he muttered, “Oui, oui, bisou, Maman.” Finally, he hung up and tossed his phone onto his bed before flinging himself down onto the bed as well. He let out a long groan of exhaustion that made Harry’s lips quirk up into a smile.

“Parents?” Harry asked.

Malfoy hummed in affirmation, half his face buried in his pillow. “Exhausting, both of them,” he said, his voice muffled against the pillow. He looked at Harry with one eye. “You don’t speak French, do you?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Bits and pieces, but only enough to ask where the toilet is, really. I’m shit at languages. What was all that about anyway?”

Malfoy sighed. He pushed himself up into a seated position on the edge of his bed, his elbows against his knees. He stared at his hands for a moment, as if gauging how much to tell Harry.

“Father’s trial didn’t go well. Embezzlement charges means five years in jail, and,” he added in a deep mockingly patronising voice, “‘We cannot afford any more attention from the press. The last thing our family needs is an exposé on the Malfoy heir.’” He dropped his head into his hands, tangling his fingers in his hair as he continued in his normal voice, “Just have to keep my head down, carry on. Same thing he said when I left. I can’t imagine what he would say if… well.”

Harry frowned as he processed this new information. He’d known Malfoy’s father was a prominent government official, but he never really knew in what capacity. He also knew that the Malfoys were one of the older British families that had still held on to some of their ancestral titles and money, but again, never really grasped the specifics. Now, though, looking at Malfoy’s slumped form across from him, he began to understand.

“What don’t you want him to know?” Harry probed cautiously. Malfoy let out a mirthless laugh. He looked up at Harry, his grey eyes expressionless.

“That his only son is a raging homosexual,” he said, deadpan.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

Malfoy smirked. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, Potter. You didn’t really think you were the only gay kid in the school, did you? It is an all-boys school, after all, although I think the all-girls schools have us beat in reputation alone.”

Harry closed his mouth, but his mind still spun. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, gay? The strangeness of the situation crashed into him as he stared at Malfoy. He blinked as a thought crossed his mind.

“Dumbledore,” he said. Malfoy frowned.

“Oh dear, I’ve broken you, haven’t I? I’m Draco.”

“No, I mean – Dumbledore must have known. To room the two of us together.”

Malfoy considered this, his hands dropping into his lap as he leaned back against the wall. He let out a small laugh. “Maybe. I wouldn’t put it pass the old codger. More likely he wanted us to sort out our little rivalry before we graduated, I imagine. That sounds more like him.”

Harry shrugged. “It also sounds like him to put the two gay kids in the school in the same room,” he pointed out. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Think he’s trying to set us up, Potter?” he asked, his old drawl coming back. Harry blushed.

“I – that’s not what I – ”

Malfoy laughed again. His laugh was so free, relaxed even – Harry had never heard him like this, not even when Malfoy was with his friends. For a moment, Harry saw him not as Malfoy but as Draco, open and vulnerable. The other boy stood, straightening his button-down and passing a quick hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry, Potter,” he said as he picked up his phone and made for the door, “I know you prefer the athletic type.” He looked over his shoulder and, seeing Harry once again slack mouthed in shock, grinned like a satisfied cat and winked at him.

The minute the door closed behind Malfoy, shutting out his chuckling laugh, Harry dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

-

“I can’t believe you and Malfoy are friends now,” said Ron.

He and Harry were in the Weasley’s kitchen, Harry peeling carrots as Ron chopped parsnips for the Christmas roast. Since they had become friends, Harry spent every winter holiday with Ron and his family out on their farm in the countryside rather than with his aunt and uncle. The Dursleys didn’t want him around, anyway. He had spent most of his Christmases before meeting Ron alone in his room, aka the utility closet they had shoved a mattress into and called a bedroom. He much preferred helping Ron and his family with chores around the farm, not to mention having snowball fights with Ron and his six other red-headed siblings and eating the fudge Mrs. Weasley seemed to have in constant supply.

Harry shrugged and set the carrot he had been peeling aside before starting on the next.

“It turns out we have more in common than we thought,” Harry said vaguely, his eyes on the carrot. Ron scoffed.

“Like what? You go to the same school?”

Harry shrugged again. “We’re both morning people, we both like to read,” although Draco, as Harry started calling him, preferred classic novels to Harry’s YA books, “and, I don’t know, we both support Manchester United.” Draco sometimes slept in a Manchester United jersey when his clothes were in the laundry, in any case. Not that he would tell Ron that part. “I don’t know, what do you want me to say? I have to spend the whole year with the bloke, we’re bound to get along if we weren’t going to kill each other.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry but only gave a noncommittal hum in response. “I guess I have to give him some kudos for not giving you shit when he found out you were gay,” Ron said at last as he turned back to his parsnips. “Because if he had, well.” His chopping took on a menacing air. “Let’s just say Dumbledore would have me doing a lot more than meditating for detention.”

Harry laughed. They passed a moment in companionable silence, chopping and peeling.

“He’s been going through a lot,” Harry said, picking his words carefully. “What with his dad and all.”

“Oh yeah. I heard about that. No wonder he’s keeping his head low I guess. Still, wouldn’t be surprised if he follows in Daddy’s footsteps, if you know what I mean.”

Harry shook his head, frowning at the carrot he was peeling. “No,” he said, his voice low. “Somehow, I don’t think he will.”

Ron eyed him as he chopped. “You’ve gone soft, Harry,” was all he said. But Ron knew his best friend, and there was more to this story than Harry was telling. He pursed his lips. Harry would tell him in his own time.

-

A few nights before they were meant to head back to school, Harry and Ron stayed up talking and eating more of Mrs. Weasley’s Christmas fudge. Ron’s gangly form lounged on his childhood twin bed, his limbs simply too big for it now. Harry sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag on the floor, hoarding his cache of fudge from Ron’s greedy fingers. Ron was expounding on this girl he’d met during one of the school’s recent visits to the nearby town – “So that was why you weren’t at the match,” Harry laughed, “you were chatting up some girl?”

“Not just any girl, Harry,” Ron insisted. “She’s amazing. She’s super smart, she’s trying to get into Oxford, or Cambridge, and she has all these ideas for political reform…”

“Since when have you been into politics?” Harry teased. Ron’s blush turned the tips of his ears scarlet to match his hair. Harry laughed again.

“Bugger off, Harry. You haven’t met her. She’s…”

“Amazing, I know. You’ve said,” Harry said with a cheeky grin. Ron rolled his eyes at him and tried to nudge his shoulder with his foot. Harry swatted him away easily.

“What about you?” Ron asked. “You got an eye on any of the blokes in school? Must be hard for you to find any of them attractive after all this time.”

Harry’s smile faded. As much as Ron knew about him, Harry never told him about his crushes. Ron was good at figuring them out, though, much to Harry’s chagrin. When Harry had fallen head over heels for the head boy, Cedric, a couple years ago, Ron teased him relentlessly about it even though Harry had never said a word. Harry picked at the fudge in his lap as he chewed his bottom lip. He could feel Ron’s eyes on him, heavy and knowing.

“You like Malfoy, don’t you?” Ron asked gently.

It was Harry’s turn to blush. He hadn’t even admitted it to himself until Ron had asked and his first thought was of white blonde hair and peppermint. He set the fudge aside for safekeeping and buried his head in his hands.

“Shit. Mate. That’s bad,” said Ron.

“I know,” Harry groaned. “I know.”

“His friends would rip you apart if they found out.”

“I know,” Harry said again. “I know.”

“ _He_ would rip you apart if he found out.”

“I….” Harry caught himself. It wasn’t his truth to tell, he told himself. As always, though, he needn’t have bothered.

“Unless….” Ron waited for Harry to say something, to contradict him, anything. But Harry kept hiding his face in his hands. Ron let out a huff. “Oh. Oh _shit_. Bloody hell. Did he tell you? Like, did he actually tell you, or is this something you heard or?”

“No,” Harry said, his voice muffled by his hands, “he told me.”

“Bloody hell. To think, all this time… _Malfoy_ …”

Harry dropped his hands back into his lap with a groan. He laid down, stretching out his legs and staring at the peaked ceiling. He liked Ron’s attic room. It gave the semblance of privacy.

“Have you told him that you fancy him?”

“Dear God, no.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, bumping into his glasses as he did so. “No, God, we’ve just gotten to be friendly with each other, no. That would just mess things up again.”

Ron mumbled an agreement. Harry heard him lay down and pull the covers over himself.

“It could pass,” Ron said after a moment of silence. “It’s just a crush, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “It could pass.”

Even as he said it, Harry knew it was a lie. This was not like the other crushes he had had over the years. This was not something he could wank to in the shower and daydream about for fun. This was something gentler, sweeter, more delicate. He could feel the tug deep in his belly when he thought of Draco – not Malfoy, but Draco – as if something inside of him was attached to the other boy, always pulling him towards him. When he closed his eyes, he could see the relaxed smile Draco had when he was around him now, the trust in those grey eyes, the lazy tilt of his head as talked. No, Harry thought as Ron turned off the light, he was well and truly fucked.

-

Draco wasn’t back yet when Harry returned to school the Saturday after the winter holidays. It gave Harry time to do what he would never dare do if Draco was around: he went over to Draco’s side of the room and looked around.

Draco always made his bed with hospital corners, the white sheets taut over the thin mattress. His pillow was a deep green silk, a welcome contrast to the white. Harry let his fingers brush over the silk, relishing the soft touch. Draco’s desk, as always, was neat, his pens tidied and his textbooks in alphabetical order. He didn’t have any pictures of his family or his friends – instead, there were pictures of a countryside covered in lavender, of old buildings made of honey limestone, and of rocky beaches and the iron coloured sea beyond. A part of Harry wanted to pull open his drawers, peak inside the clean exterior, but he knew better. He knew better. And yet.

He had just put his hand on the drawer handle when he heard Draco’s voice down the hall, speaking in hurried French. Harry jumped and scampered over to his side of the room, trying to look like he had just been in the process of unpacking when Draco showed up. He needn’t have bothered. Draco gave him a quick nod when he came in, closing the door behind him, before continuing his conversation on the phone as he dropped his luggage on his bed. By the time he hung up, Harry had put away his clothes and toiletries and was playing on his phone as he sat on his bed. Draco set his phone down with a sigh and opened his luggage.

Harry’s phone buzzed as a text notification popped onscreen.

 _You should tell him_. -Ron

Harry frowned at the message. He typed back: _Not in a million years. R u crazy?_

_Just watched 4 Weddings and a Funeral while unpacking. Do it. The spirit of Hugh Grant compels you._

Harry’s frown deepened. Ron always got sentimental after watching _Four Weddings and a Funeral_. The last time he had watched it, he told Harry he would never find true love and proceeded to sign them up for dating apps. The problem was that they went to a boarding school that only let the older students go to the neighbouring village when they had football matches.

 _No. Definitely not_. _He’d kill me. Then I’d kill you. For talking me into it._

“Having quite the argument over there,” said Draco nonchalantly. Harry almost dropped his phone. Draco looked over his shoulder at him. “You know you can turn the keyboard sound off, right?”

Harry let out a huff and sent Ron another message – _He’s here, leave me alone_. “It’s just Ron,” he said, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Uh huh. Oh, by the way, I got you something.”

Harry looked up in surprise. Draco rummaged in his luggage and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in green wrapping paper. He walked over and handed it to Harry who, stunned, hadn’t moved from his position on the bed – on his back with his knees bent up, one leg crossed over the other. He took the package from Draco. He had to struggle to hide the shiver that went down his spine when his fingers brushed Draco’s.

“Thank you,” he managed to say, his voice a little huskier than he intended. Something flashed across Draco’s face, but was quickly concealed by his trademark deadpan mask. Harry looked from his grey eyes, to his pink lips, then furtively down to the package in his hands. “I didn’t get you anything,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it. I saw this in a shop when I was visiting Mother’s family in Provence and thought of you. It’s nothing,” said Draco, rushing through the words as if he had rehearsed them. Harry focused on unwrapping the package, hoping Draco couldn’t see his blush. He let out a small gasp when the wrapping fell away.

It was a leather-bound copy of English poetry. Harry held his breath as he gently opened the cover, flipping the crackling flyleaves to the title page, where the publishing date – 1894 – was printed. He turned the page over to the table of contents, where it seemed every great English poet had a section all to themselves.

“You like poetry,” Draco stated. Harry nodded.

“I love poetry,” he whispered. He looked up at Draco in amazement. “How did you know?”

Draco blushed. “I know I tease you about your terrible taste in literature, but I found a copy of Tennyson in your bedside table when I was looking for batteries before the break. People don’t read Tennyson unless they really like poetry.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Why were you looking for batteries in my bedside table?” he asked. Draco’s blush turned from pink to scarlet. His skin was almost as fair as Ron’s, so there was no way for Draco to hide it. Harry swallowed hard. He liked the way Draco blushed.

“No reason,” Draco mumbled. “I’m glad you like the book.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, trying to catch Draco’s eye so that he knew he meant it. “The Tennyson belonged to my mother. It’s the only thing of hers that I have.” When Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion, he added, “My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby. That’s why I have a scar.” He pointed at the silver lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Draco’s eyes flicked up to it as if seeing for the first time. He reached out a finger, seemingly unaware of his own movements, and brushed the scar with his fingertip. Harry held his breath. The way Draco leaned over him slightly as Harry lay there on the bed, the lightest touch of his fingertip against his skin, made Harry’s heart thrum in his chest. Heat coiled in his belly. There again was that tug, immediate now and insistent. Here. Here was what he wanted. Here was what he could not have.

“God,” Draco whispered. “I called you Scar Face.”

“Not your most inventive of insults, if I’m honest,” Harry said hoarsely.

Draco blinked and leaned back, his hand dropping back to his side. Harry breathed again. Draco cleared his throat and turned away, returning to his unpacking.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he stood over his luggage. “I didn’t know about your parents.”

Harry sat up, cradling the book in his hands. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not something I exactly tell everyone.”

“Still,” Draco insisted, turning around to look at him. “I am sorry. Really. Especially after the way I treated you all those years.”

“Really,” Harry said, echoing Draco. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

But Draco was shaking his head. “You didn’t deserve everything I did to you. Said about you. To you. I’m sorry. I was a dick. I was a bully. I was cruel and mean and… and you didn’t deserve it.”

Harry set the book down on the bed when he saw how worked up Draco was getting. He got up and crossed the room, placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders. Only then did he realise that Draco was shaking. He squeezed Draco’s shoulders.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Draco looked up, his grey eyes filling with tears. Harry held his chin gently with one hand to keep him there and gave him a small smile.

“I forgive you. If I’ve realised anything over the past few months of living with you, it’s that you’re growing. You’re becoming a better person than you were. And I like who you are becoming.”

Draco blinked. Tears began to slip down his cheeks. He sniffled and tried to look away, but Harry held firm. Again, he found his gaze flickering between Draco’s eyes and his trembling lips, but this time, he let them linger there. He brushed the pad of his thumb against Draco’s lower lip. Draco inhaled sharply. Harry’s hand dropped away. He had misread the situation, forgotten who he was talking to. He made to step back, but before he could, Draco’s hands were in his hair and his lips were crashing into Harry’s in a clumsy kiss.

Oh. Harry’s heart stuttered to a halt. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, pressing up onto his toes to kiss him back. Oh. This was happening. He nibbled Draco’s lip and he gasped, letting Harry in, deepening the kiss with a moan. Oh. Draco’s body was warm against his, all lean muscle and bone, filling Harry’s senses with the smell of peppermint and expensive cotton. He let go and drowned himself in Draco.

When they finally pulled apart, leaning their foreheads together, not quite wanting it to end, their breath was ragged, their chests rising and falling against each other. Draco searched Harry’s face, one of his hands disentangling from Harry’s hair to ghost his fingertips against cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck. Harry shivered at the touch.

“This,” Draco whispered, his voice rough, “this is really happening, right? This isn’t a joke, is it?”

Harry pulled back a centimetre in surprise. He frowned.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. Hey.” He pressed a feather-light kiss against the corner of Draco’s mouth, tasting the remains of a salty tear. “This is real,” he whispered, his breath warm against the shell of Draco’s ear. It was Draco’s turn to shiver. He turned his head, chasing Harry’s lips, when there was a knock at the door.

They jumped apart.

“Draco? Are you there?”

Harry scrambled over to his side of the room, diving onto his bed and picking up Draco’s gift and opening it at random to hide his flaming face. He pulled his knees up in hopes that whoever it was wouldn’t notice the semi in his trousers. Draco looked frantically from his bed to his desk, decided on the latter, and sat down in his desk chair, pulling himself close to the desk and pretending to be looking at his phone. He cleared his throat and called, “Come in.”

Parkinson and Crabbe strode in. They both shot a glare over at Harry who pointedly ignored them. Draco looked up at them and gave them a tight smile. He set his phone down but didn’t turn to face them. Harry smirked behind his book.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked by way of greeting. Parkinson cocked an eyebrow at the formality, but Crabbe, always the brighter of the two, didn’t seem to notice. He was still glaring at Harry.

“I see you’re still here,” he sneered at Harry.

“I see the school still lets you in,” Harry shot back from behind his book. Crabbe made a step towards him, but Draco quickly intervened, pulling Crabbe’s attention back to him.

“Vince. Focus. Are you two just dropping in or is there something you want?”

Parkinson frowned at his friend. “We just wanted to say hello,” he said, looking between Draco and Harry with narrowed eyes. “Did we interrupt something? The f** try to jump you or something?”

Harry’s knuckles turned white as his grip on his book tightened. He heard Draco suck in a breath. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees in the space it took for Harry to hear him say over the roaring in his ears,

“Now, now, Piers, let’s check the foul language at the door, shall we? It is unnecessary.”

Parkinson scoffed. “What’s gotten into you, Draco? Why are you defending this pouf? He’s just a f*****.”

Draco stood suddenly, his chair toppling over as it caught on the carpet. Harry looked up in time to see Parkinson and Crabbe both take a step back. Both of their faces were whiter than Draco’s sheets, but Draco was fuming. His hands were clutched into fists at his sides, and Harry could see him shaking, this time with rage. Never, in all his years of fighting with Malfoy, had Harry ever seen Draco so angry.

“Get. Out,” Draco growled. “Now.”

“D-Draco? Come off it, mate, I was just – what’s gotten into you?” Parkinson stammered. He looked from Draco to Harry and back again. Harry could see the wheels turning behind Parkinson’s dark eyes. When his mouth dropped open in an ‘o’ of realisation, Harry knew.

“I said,” Draco spat through gritted teeth, “Get. Out.”

Parkinson sneered at him, his thin lips curling like a hyena’s. “I bet you’re gay,” he said, his voice low.

That was it for Draco. He picked up the cup of pens on his desk and threw it at the other boy, who ducked just in time. The pens scattered everywhere and the cup shattered against the opposite wall, shaking the door in its frame.

“GET OUT,” Draco bellowed. Parkinson and Crabbe finally got the message. They turned on their heels and ran, but not before Parkinson got in one last jab.

“My father will hear about this! He’ll tell your mother!” he squealed over his shoulder.

“MY MOTHER ALREADY KNOWS, YOU DICK!”

Harry pressed the open book against his mouth so Draco couldn’t see his jaw drop. Draco’s shoulders rose and fell with each heaving breath. The back of his neck was flushed, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. He stood there for several minutes, catching his breath. Harry closed his mouth, swallowed, and lowered his book.

“Bloody hell, Draco,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “And I thought I used to be on your bad side.”

Draco rounded on Harry. He raised his hands in surrender. Draco, his face set in stone, strode over to Harry. He placed his hands on either side of his face, his sweating palms against Harry’s jaw, and pulled him into a rough kiss.

Harry just had enough brain power left to set the book on the bedside table before Draco crawled on top of him, straddling his hips. Harry, pulling away to gasp for air as he grabbed the other boy’s thin waist, protested weakly, “Draco, the door’s still open.”

“Fuck it,” Draco growled against Harry’s neck as he peppered it with kisses. “Let them see.”

Harry gulped as Draco began to nibble and suck a love bite at the base of his neck, trying desperately not to buck his hips up at the pleasure Draco’s mouth was giving him. He groaned. “Draco. Draco – ungh – listen, we should slow down,” he tried to argue. Why was he objecting? Draco’s hands were tugging at his shirt, and it took everything Harry had to cover his hands with his own, stilling them and holding Draco back from tearing the shirt off of him. He managed to hold both of Draco’s hands in one of his while the other pushed Draco, reluctantly, back from sucking another hickey into his collar bone so that he could look him in the eye. Draco’s lips were glossy and bruised, and Harry had to ignore the way that made the heat pool in his groin. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Draco. You’re angry. And upset.”

“Yes,” Draco admitted, his eyes already on Harry’s lips again. Harry gripped his jaw, forcing him to look at him.

“I don’t want to do this when you’re upset,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s not right.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “But I want this,” he pouted. His fingers plucked at Harry’s shirt under his grip. “Don’t you?”

Harry sighed. “You know I do,” he said. He tried to keep his voice level as he continued, “But you also know that this isn’t going to make you less upset.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do,” Harry interrupted him, moving to place one finger against Draco’s lips to quiet him. Draco pressed his lips back against Harry’s finger, and Harry groaned in frustration, wanting so much to let Draco suck his finger into his mouth, to do dirty things with it – no, focus. He moved his hand away to cup Draco’s face instead, cradling his jaw. “Let’s take this slow, okay? For both of our sakes.”

Draco pouted, but rolled off of Harry to lay next to him in the tiny bed with a huff.

“Why do you have to be right?” he asked, staring at the ceiling. Harry turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he smiled down softly at Draco. He booped Draco’s nose, earning a smile in return.

“Because I always am,” he said. He kissed Draco on the forehead before lowering himself down to cuddle against the other boy. He hummed contentedly as Draco wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer against his side. They stayed like that for a little while in silence. Draco ran his hand up and down Harry’s arm and pressed his face against the top of Harry’s head.

“This is nice,” Harry sighed. Draco nuzzled his nose into Harry’s curls.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice muffled. “It is.”

They both jumped when something vibrated beneath them. Draco wiggled his hand between them and pulled out Harry’s phone, which lit up with a series of texts from Ron. Harry swore. He’d forgotten about Ron. He tried to snatch the phone from Draco but he just held it out of his reach as he read Ron’s texts out loud.

_Did you tell him?_

_OMG did he kill you?_

_I’m coming over to protect your murdered corpse._

_I swear if Malfoy hurts you –_

“What is Weasley on about, Harry?” Draco asked, bemused. Harry blushed furiously as he struggled to get up and reach for his phone. Draco’s arm around him held tight, though, as he watched the smaller boy struggle.

“Give me my phone, Malfoy.”

“Oh, I’m Malfoy now?”

“Draco, I swear to God…”

“That’s more like it.” Draco grinned, pressing another kiss to the top of his head.

Of course, that was the moment Ron chose to burst in.

“Harry, I’m – oh.”

He stood just inside the doorway, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he stared at Draco and Harry on the bed, Draco still holding the phone out of Harry’s reach.

“Weasley,” Draco said, his voice irritatingly smug.

“Malfoy,” Ron replied automatically. He looked from Draco, smirking like a cat, to Harry, still blushing and with hickeys blooming on his neck. “Right,” he said, dragging the word out slowly as he backed away. “I will…come back… later.” With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a click.

Harry fell back against Draco with an embarrassed groan. Draco chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest against Harry’s back.

“I am going to kill you, Draco,” Harry muttered as he buried his face in his hands. He felt more than heard Draco hum with a suppressed smile.

“Kill me softly then,” he murmured against Harry’s temple as he placed another kiss there. Harry shook his head but dropped his hands with a sappy grin spread across his face. He turned as Draco’s arms wrapped around him and whispered against Draco’s lips,

“Don’t mind if I do.”

-

Later, after an awkward dinner in the dining hall where Draco sat with Harry and Ron while his friends shot daggers at him across the hall, after they returned to their room and immediately fell into Harry’s bed, after hours of passion and tenderness, they lay together, Harry tucked into Draco’s side with his head on the other boy’s chest. Draco carded his long fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry traced patterns on Draco’s chest, his fingertips skating across snow-white skin.

“Your mother knows?” Harry murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. Draco’s hand paused in his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, the word rough on his exhale. “Over Christmas. We were visiting her family in France, and they kept asking about… well, about Father, mainly, but they wanted to know how I was… handling things, I guess. When I bought that book, they all assumed I had a girlfriend.” Harry chuckled. Draco smirked and went back to playing with Harry’s hair. “In any case, Mother knew I was not exactly able to have a girlfriend, being here and all. We had dinner one night, just the two of us. We hadn’t had dinner together, just us, since Father’s trial. It was nice. But then she asked if I had something to tell her.”

He went quiet. Harry turned his head into Draco’s chest to press a kiss against his collarbone, a gentle reassurance. Draco kissed the top of his head in kind. When he continued, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I hadn’t told anyone else besides… well, you. It is not exactly something that we talk about, and… you saw how well my friends think of… people like us.”

Harry repositioned himself so that he could rest his chin on his hands on Draco’s chest and look at his face, as best as he could without his glasses. Draco, seeming to guess what he was trying to do, reached over to the bedside table and handed Harry his glasses, which he put on gratefully. Draco’s face came into sharp focus. His white-blond hair, always so meticulously styled, was mussed and falling across his forehead. This close, Harry could see that there were silvery flecks in his grey eyes, and that there was the hint of stubble on his chin, so blonde it was practically translucent. Draco propped his head up with one arm, his other hand still carding through Harry’s hair. Harry leaned into his touch with a smile. Draco chuckled.

“You’re like a dog,” Draco murmured. “Or a cat.”

Harry rolled his eyes and booped Draco’s nose to get him to continue with his story. Draco sighed.

“In the end, Mother was not even that surprised. She said I always was ‘a sensitive boy.’”

Harry snorted at this. “Sensitive doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he teased. Draco gently tugged his hair in reprimand with a playful scowl.

“Anyways,” he drawled, “she asked if there was anyone I was interested in, so of course I told her about you…”

“Aw, you had a crush on me?”

“…We’re literally in bed together right now…”

“I know, but still.” Harry grinned cheekily and Draco let out a huff but smiled back.

“That is all to say that she is relatively supportive. She always has been. Father on the other hand….” Draco’s smile faded. He lowered his head down to stare at the ceiling, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles into the skin behind Harry’s ear. Draco frowned as the thought of his father loomed. Don’t make waves. “I told Mother not to tell him,” Draco murmured, “but he’s bound to find out at some point. Especially with Parkinson being the snitch that he is.” His frown became a dark scowl. “It is not like he can do much from prison himself, but… he has his ways.”

They were quiet for a moment, contemplating.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Harry said, “I haven’t told my aunt and uncle. Not that they would care much either way, they already hate me, but still. They would probably lock me back up in my cupboard if they found out.”

Draco looked down at Harry at this. “Cup…board?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, it’s more of a glorified closet….”

“They make you live… in a closet…?”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Harry, that’s child abuse.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s just the summers now. Although I am planning on staying with Ron this summer before uni. What?” For Draco had sat up, dislodging Harry from his very comfortable position on his chest. Draco stared at Harry in consternation.

“Harry, you can’t go back there,” Draco said firmly. “That is literally child abuse. And neglect. And fuck knows how many other charges.”

“Someone’s been reading my government and law books,” Harry mumbled as he sat facing Draco, pulling his knees into his chest. “And besides, I’m not going back, I’m staying with Ron, where do you think I go during the winter hols?”

Draco shook his head and ran a hand through his mussed up hair. “Jesus, I had no idea,” he whispered to himself. “God, what a dick I’ve been… all that time I made fun of you for being poor, I had no idea….”

“Hey now.” Harry poked Draco in the chest. “I’m not poor. I’m middle class, thank you very much.” But Draco was still spiralling, Harry could tell by the panicked look creeping into his eyes. He uncurled himself and reached out to take Draco’s face in his hands. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Yes, you were a dick. But it’s okay. I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t have to forgive me,” Draco argued. “I shouldn’t have done all those things in the first place.”

“You didn’t know any better.”

“But I did!”

“Draco.” Harry’s grip grew more firm. “Listen to me. Maybe you did know better. But you are making up for it. You are doing better. You’re here now, with me. Okay? Where are you?”

“Here,” Draco mumbled. “With you.”

“And what are you?”

“A Harry sandwich?”

“No,” Harry laughed. “You’re doing better. You’re becoming a better Draco. That’s all I could ask for. No more apologies, okay?” He leaned in and gave Draco a quick peck on the lips, drawing back only to rest his forehead against Draco’s. “Just be here with me, okay?”

Draco nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, his breath ghosting across Harry’s lips. “Okay.” He pulled Harry in close to him as they laid back down in the bed, limbs tangled and foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. Harry stroked Draco’s cheekbone with his thumb, and Draco threaded his fingers back into Harry’s hair to hold him there. They fell asleep like that, chests rising and falling together. It was the best night’s sleep either of them had had in years.

-

Unfortunately, not even a good night’s sleep could have prepared them for the next day.

As Harry came out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he noticed Draco sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, still just in his boxers from the night before. He was wringing his hands, his head bowed, his bedhead making Harry’s heart squeeze.

“Draco? You okay?” he asked as he put on his glasses and stood in front of the other boy. Draco looked up with a worried frown.

“How many people do you think they told?” he asked softly. Harry bit his lip. He sat down with a sigh next to Draco.

“What do you think they would tell people? That you’re gay or that we’re… together?” Harry gestured between them ineloquently. Draco dropped his head again as he gnawed at his lip, his thumb pushing and pressing against the opposite palm.

“Who knows,” he murmured. “Piers runs his mouth like his life depends on it, he’s probably got a whole story cooked up, whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter. He and Vince have at least told everyone we – they know that I’m gay. You’ve heard them, they don’t need much in the way of proof to believe it.” He let out a sharp exhale that was meant to be a laugh. “They’re probably telling people you turned me gay. Like I needed any help in that department.”

Harry smirked. He rubbed the back of Draco’s neck, pushing his fingers through the short blond hair. “Hey. Don’t let them upset you this much.” When Draco raised an eyebrow at him, Harry gave him a crooked smile. “You use more contractions when you’re upset.”

Draco considered this. “Huh. Never noticed,” he said with a small smile of his own. “So much for my poker face.”

Harry chuckled. “I’ve seen more of your emotions in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the past seven years. Well, your emotions beyond being an absolute twat, in any case,” he teased. Draco frowned at this, and Harry leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Still,” he added, his breath warm against Draco’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “if you’re worried about what those assholes are going to say, don’t be. You’ve got me now. And Ron. And most of the football team.”

Draco pulled back an inch to look at Harry. “They know?” he asked, more curious than anything. Harry shrugged.

“We share a locker room. They were bound to figure it out at some point. Luckily, Oliver was captain when I came out, so it wasn’t like the idea was new to them. Plus, if anyone had a problem, Oliver wouldn’t have hesitated to kick them off the team,” he said. “We’re all pretty close. How else did you think we pulled off last year’s prank? There was no way you could have thought Ron and I were the only ones putting shaving cream in your and your friends’ beds.”

The ghost of a grin spread across Draco’s lips. “Huh. I almost forgot about that. You are right, you can be an absolute nightmare when you want to be.”

Harry beamed, mischief dancing in his green eyes. “Be glad I’m on your side now,” he said before leaning in for a kiss. It was meant to be a quick peck, but Draco’s hand on his neck held him there, and before they knew it, Draco was pushing him back into the bed.

They moved so that they lay in the middle of the bed, Draco on top of Harry who was still just wearing a towel, a fact that both of them quickly became aware of when Draco rolled his hips against Harry’s. They both moaned at the same time. Draco buried his face against Harry’s neck, his breath hot against Harry’s skin. Harry spread his legs a bit to let Draco slot in between them, and felt the towel give way a bit. Draco pressed kisses against his skin as he made his way down his chest, taking little detours to lick and suck at Harry’s nipples, making Harry gasp and squirm beneath him. Harry became increasingly incoherent, babbling words like, “Oh God, Draco, yes, fuck,” over and over again.

As Draco kissed along his navel, sucking love bites into the curve of his hips, Harry had to prop himself up on his elbows to watch and remind himself that this was real. Draco’s mouth ghosted over the tent his erection was making beneath the towel. He looked up at Harry through his lashes, and all Harry could do was nod fervently, having to stem the tide of his rambling by biting his lip to keep himself grounded. Draco grinned before dropping a kiss to Harry’s cock through the fabric. Harry pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle the moan. He swallowed hard as Draco’s nimble fingers pulled away the towel, letting it fall to either side of Harry’s legs.

Draco paused to stare open mouthed at Harry’s length. Harry blushed, uncertain.

“Damn,” Draco whispered. He took Harry’s thick cock in his hand and began to stroke it, long and firm. Harry’s mewls were muffled by his hand over his mouth. But when Draco licked a stripe along the underside of his cock, his moan could not be contained. He dropped his hand and let the sounds come unchecked as Draco took him little by little in his mouth. He tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair as he began to bob up and down Harry’s length.

“Draco, Draco, God, I’m not going to last, Draco, fuck, you okay?” he asked as he felt Draco gag around him. Draco gave an affirmative hum, and that was it. Harry came hard with a cry and Draco, in his surprise, swallowed. When Harry’s orgasm had passed, he pulled off his cock and rocked back on his heels. There was a bit of cum at the corner of his mouth as he stared wide eyed at Harry.

“Looks like I’m good at sucking cock after all,” he said, half to himself. Harry, still shaking from his post-orgasm high, laughed.

“Was that what you were worried about?” he asked. He pulled Draco back down to him with a messy kiss, licking his own cum from the other boy’s mouth.

“Gross,” Draco mumbled against his lips. Harry grinned.

“You like it,” he teased, rolling his hips against Draco and feeling the hard length there. Draco groaned. “I promise to make you come properly next time, but we are going to miss breakfast if we do this much longer, so.” He snaked a hand between them and slipped under Draco’s boxers to grasp his cock. Draco buried his face against Harry’s neck with a moan as Harry began to pump him quickly. It only took a few strokes before Draco came with a sob in Harry’s hand. Harry chuckled, turning his head to press a kiss to Draco’s temple.

“Looks like I’m going to have to take another shower. Join me this time?”

“I thought you said we were going to miss breakfast?”

Harry considered this. “Quickie?” he said finally.

Draco propped himself up so that Harry could see him roll his eyes. “You are insatiable,” he told the grinning boy beneath him.

“Always.”

After they showered and dressed, they only had fifteen minutes to get to the dining hall and grab something to eat. The hall was practically empty by the time they got there, so they relaxed a bit, and went about grabbing pieces of toast and fruit to take back to the room. It being the last Sunday before term, most of the students were either having a lie in or were else playing out on the grounds where snow had settled in a thin layer on the grass. Needless to say, they didn’t run into too many people in the halls on their way back. Harry, in either a moment of insanity or bravery, bumped up against Draco and slipped his hand into Draco’s. Draco froze and made to pull his hand back. But Harry held firm. He looked up at Draco, his jaw set.

“If they have a problem,” he said in a low voice, “they can go through me.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” Draco said. Harry rolled his eyes and gave Draco’s hand a squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” Harry promised.

Dear reader, it would not.

As they turned the corner into their hall, they saw a cluster of Draco’s friends outside their door. Draco swore under his breath. One of them must have heard, because one by one they all turned and saw the two of them standing, frozen, at the end of the hall. Draco wrenched his hand from Harry’s grasp, and when he looked up, he saw the split-second moment when Draco’s fear was hidden by the impenetrable mask he had worn for so long.

“Draco!” Parkinson called, making his way to the front of the crowd. “Just the person we were looking for.”

“Run,” Draco hissed through his teeth. Harry looked from him to the group and back, his brow furrowed.

“Not happening,” Harry hissed back.

“Harry,” Draco’s eyes never left Parkinson, who was sauntering forward, the cronies following close behind. As they got closer, Harry realised some of them had cricket bats in their hands. “Run. Now.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Harry growled.

“It’s so nice,” Parkinson drawled, his greasy smile broadening, “to see you two become so close. But I guess it’s true what they say. Birds of a feather and all that.” He sneered at the two of them as he stood only a few feet away. “It makes our job a little easier then, doesn’t it?”

“Piers, you don’t have to do this,” Draco said, his voice surprisingly cool and level. “You can write to your father or the press all you want…”

Piers cut him off with a high, cold laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end. “Oh no, no, no, Draco,” Parkinson said, stuffing his hands into his trousers, “I’ve already done all that. Sent it off this morning.” A muscle in Draco’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. “No, this is a more personal touch,” Parkinson continued. “A little coming out party, as you f**s call it.”

Harry pulled out his phone. Parkinson raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something. Harry, however, was already dialling.

“Ron? Yeah. Get the team and come to my floor. Could use some back up here.”

Parkinson went white as a sheet. The others in his group looked at each other, sizing each other up. Some of them shifted their grip on their cricket bats nervously. A few took off, but most of them stayed, ready to take on the entire football team if need be. Parkinson seemed to gain some confidence back seeing this. His lip curled at Harry.

“You really think your team is going to protect you, f*****? I bet none of them want to share a locker room with a pouf like you,” Parkinson sneered. Draco, fists clenched, took a step forward, but Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“My team is my family,” Harry spat at Parkinson. “And unlike you, they’re not a bunch of bigots.” He could already hear the rumble of footsteps coming up the steps behind them, and he grinned, his eyes steely as he stared Parkinson down. “I’m sure they won’t mind getting their hands dirty to show you some manners.”

Parkinson seemed to realise too late that he had bitten off more than he could chew. He looked at something over Harry’s shoulder and blanched. From behind him, Harry could sense several of his teammates at his back.

“Okay there, Harry?” Ron asked, drawing level with Harry and Draco.

“Parkinson here wanted to throw us a little coming out party,” Harry told him. He crossed his arms with a smirk. “Figured I’d invite you all to come and join.”

“I didn’t know you were gay, Parkinson,” Ron said, raising his voice to carry down the hall. A few more students poked their heads out of their doors to see what all the commotion was about. Parkinson went from white to scarlet.

“What – that’ s – I’m not – Draco’s the one,” Parkinson spluttered, pointing an accusatory finger at Draco. Ron looked over at Draco in false bemusement.

“Oh, Malfoy, were you the one coordinating this little coming out party? How thoughtful. The boys and I would love to join, if that’s alright with you.”

“Fine by me,” Draco said curtly, all the time never taking his eyes off of Parkinson. Parkinson started to back away towards his group, who appeared to be growing more confused and uncomfortable under the weight of the onlookers’ gazes.

“Piers, we should go,” Crabbe said, grabbing Parkinson by the shoulder.

“Ah, what a shame,” said Ron with a smile that said he wasn’t sorry at all. “Next time, then.”

Parkinson sneered at Ron. “Just wait,” he called as he and his cronies retreated hastily back down the hall. “You’ll pay for this. You will all pay!”

Ron made a rude gesture at Parkinson’s back. Harry laughed, more in relief than anything else. Ron turned towards him, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You alright, Harry?” he asked. Then, as an afterthought, “Malfoy? You alright?”

Harry glanced over at Draco, who stood, as if frozen in place, still watching what used to be his friends running away from them. The mask was still in place, but Harry could see through a chink in it, could see the fear, loss, regret swirling in those grey eyes. He reached out and took Draco’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Draco snapped back to the present, and looked down at Harry, giving him a tight-lipped smile and giving his hand a squeeze in return. There was a stiffness to the smile he gave Ron though. Baby steps, Harry reminded himself, all in good time.

“I am alright, thank you, Weasley,” Draco said politely. He turned to the other boys behind them with the same stiff, polite smile. “Thank you all, as well.”

Christian Bell, a stout blond boy from the year below them, punched Draco lightly in the arm with a grin. Harry noticed Draco stifling a flinch. He’d have to talk to the rest of them about being careful with physical contact around Draco, he thought with an inward sigh.

“Anytime, mate,” Christian was saying. “If any of those buggers bother you or Harry, you come to us, alright?”

“Yeah, we got you covered,” said Angelo Johnson. Angelo was in the same year as Harry and Draco and didn’t have the same cavalier approach as Christian did to Draco. He returned Draco’s polite smile with a similarly stiff smile of his own, which immediately relaxed when he turned to Harry. “Seriously, you know what to do.”

Harry thanked them all and told Ron that he would see him later, giving them a wave as Draco none too subtly began to pull them back towards their now unguarded door. When they were back in their room, Draco leaned back against their closed door with a long sigh of relief.

“Sweet God in Heaven,” he said, leaning his head back, “I think my life just flashed before my eyes.”

Harry cradled Draco’s jaw with one hand, wrapping his other arm around Draco’s waist. “You okay?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Be honest.”

Draco nodded. He wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him in close, burying his face against the top of Harry’s head. “Yeah,” he mumbled into Harry’s hair. “I’m okay.”

They stood like that for a long while. Despite his reassurance, Harry could hear Draco’s heart racing in his chest. He moved his hand to the back of Draco’s neck, massaging it slowly, as he murmured, “I got you, it’s okay,” against his chest.

“How are we supposed to do this?” Draco asked. “How are we supposed to go to classes and deal with this all the time?”

Harry shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. He ran a hand up and down Draco’s back as they both considered their new predicament. “Oliver never had a boyfriend here… He was smart about that. We have the team….”

“Your friends cannot follow us everywhere,” Draco pointed out. “And we have separate classes.”

Harry hummed. “We’ll just have to be ready, then,” he said flatly.

“That does not sound very encouraging.”

“Now you know what it was like for me all those years.”

“I am sorry about that.”

“I know you are.” Harry pulled away just enough to rise up on his tiptoes and give Draco a quick kiss. “We’ll be alright, though. One day at a time, okay?”

Draco nodded. When his eyes met Harry’s, his heart filled with the love and tenderness he saw there. “So beautiful,” Draco whispered, brushing his fingers along Harry’s cheek. Harry smiled. He had to resist the urge to tease Draco, to ask him if he thought he was a pretty boy – this was not the moment. Instead he looped his arms around Draco’s neck to pull him down into another long, slow kiss.


End file.
